TRUST PART TWO: Trusting the Team
by ILoveJorja
Summary: Grissom and Sara have returned from their vacation with their relationship in better shape than ever before. Back at work, cases, crimes, and colleagues interfere. Drama/Humor/Smut. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

**TRUST PART TWO: TRUSTING THE TEAM**

Summary: Grissom and Sara return from their vacation with their relationship in better shape than ever before, and go back to work. Cases, crimes and colleagues interfere. GSR. Rated M.

A/N: This picks up exactly where Trust ended.

**CHAPTER ONE**

Nick was waiting patiently when Sara hopped into the Denali.

"So, how was your vacation?"

"Fantastic," Sara answered, grinning to herself.

"Good for you. You look rested, and you have a tan," Nick commented, glancing at her as he drove. "Where did you go?"

"California," Sara answered, deliberately keeping her answers short.

"We missed you around here. It was weird without Grissom too."

"I know what you mean."

"What did you do on your week off?"

"Oh, you know. Took care of some family stuff," she said, trying not to sound too evasive. "Went to the beach, swam in the ocean...do you know how long it's been since I swam in the ocean?" Nick shook his head. "Too long. Walked around Venice Beach. That's where I got your shirt."

"I love the shirt. Do you know what 'Cowboy Up' means?"

"No," Sara said, glad that he was shifting the conversation.

"It means, when you get knocked down, get back up and tough it out. It comes from rodeo riders getting thrown. Get back on the horse, in other words."

"Interesting. Did you ever ride rodeo, Nicky?"

"Nah. I'm not into pain," he said, smiling. "I rode horses a lot when I was a kid, though. I miss that. Horses...well there's that connection, you know? You can feel their emotions and they read yours too. Did you ever go horseback riding, Sara?"

"Nope."

"That's too bad. Maybe we can go sometime. Rent a couple of nags and go on a trail ride. I'll teach you."

"I'd like that."

They continued chatting about horses and animals and Nick's childhood until they reached the scene.

Grissom sat down heavily at his desk and sighed. Brightening when a thought occurred to him, he looked through his Rolodex and found his realtor's number and left her a message to call him at home. Then he opened the top file on his desk and got to work.

Hours later, the team trickled back in. One by one they came in to see Grissom and bring him up to date. Sara and Nick detoured to the breakroom, got lemons, and took showers, as their floater was smelly and gross. Grissom did his usual rounds, checking in on all the labs. He went into the layout room to see Catherine, Warrick, and Greg, and look over their crime scene photos and evidence. They let Greg present the case to Grissom, and though he was nervous, he explained it well.

"Nice job, Greg." Greg beamed and thanked him. Warrick and Catherine looked pleased and proud–their protégée was coming along well. Grissom strolled out and they got back to work, Greg bouncing on his toes.

Grissom kept glancing at the clock. The shift seemed way too long and he missed Sara. He decided to assign the two of them to the next scene he could before he went out of his mind.

At last, Sara appeared and leaned in his doorway as was her habit at the end of the day. Grissom glanced up and gave her a warm smile, which she returned.

"Come in a minute and close the door." She did so happily and leaned on his desk.

"I missed you," he said huskily.

"Missed you too, babe."

"How was your case?"

"Okay. Looks like it might have been an accidental drowning. We'll see what Doc says though."

"How was Nick?"

Sara grinned. "Not too nosy. Told me I looked tanned and rested."

"You do."

"Thanks. I needed that vacation." Grissom smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Um hum."

"Good. Can't wait to get out of here," Grissom said, making a face. Sara grinned at him. _Grissom wanting to go home on time? Nice change_. "Want to stop for dinner on the way?"

"Sure."

"Roberto's?"

"Sounds great. See you there."

"See you soon, Sara."

They met up at their favorite out-of-the-way Italian restaurant, a cheery little place with red-checked tablecloths, brightly colored posters of Italy on the walls, and a friendly owner. Sara liked using a bit of her remembered Italian with him, and he always complimented her on her accent and vocabulary, and corrected her grammar kindly.

"Italian grammar is complicated."

"True. But it's easier than English spelling."

"_Madonn. E' vero._ Thirty years I've lived here, and I still have trouble writing in English."

Grissom and Sara ordered their pasta and chatted easily about everything but work.

"Oh, Nick asked me to go horseback riding with him sometime," Sara said. "Have you ever been?"

"No, I haven't."

"You should come along then. You _do _have the knees for it," she said, smirking.

"Ha! Are you making fun of my bowed legs?" Sara giggled.

"Well, you, Ms. Sidle, better make sure you don't get a pony. Your feet would be dragging on the ground." They chuckled at the image.

"Hey, I called my realtor."

"And?" Sara asked brightly.

"Left her a message to call me at home. She doesn't work 24 hours a day, you know."

"Good point. _Andiamo a casa._"

"Which means?" Grissom asked.

"Let's go home."

Grissom reached for the check and pulled out his wallet. Sara smiled at him indulgently. She had long ago given up trying to pay her way when they went out to dinner. It was just something gentlemen did, in his mind, and it made her feel cherished.

A voice interrupted them.

"Grissom! Sara!"

**TBC**

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER TWO**

A/N: Whoops! I skipped this chapter in the last reposting! Arggh. Many thanks to Trish for kindly pointing out this glaring error. I was also able to include more of Hodges's and Grissom's conversation too. Loved 'The Bellows" story and should have included it to begin with!

Thanks for your patience.

RATS!

Sara and Grissom flinched and instantly looked guilty. "Rats!" Grissom muttered under his breath. They looked up and their faces cleared.

"Brass!" Sara jumped up and hugged him.

"Good to see you, kiddo. Grissom, nice to see you too." They shook hands.

"Um, no offense, Jim, but what are you doing here?" Grissom asked.

Brass chuckled. "Where else am I going to get great pasta at eight in the morning?"

"A casino buffet?" Sara teased.

Brass made a disgusted face. "Limp noodles in canned sauce in a warming pan? I don't think so. Besides, one of the best things about New Jersey was the Italian food."

"Ah, yes, New Jersey–Italian restaurants. Isn't that where the mobsters hang out? The Sopranos?" Sara teased him.

"I'll have you know Tony and Carmella are good friends of mine." They all laughed.

"Hey, sorry to run, but we were just leaving," Gil said.

"Yeah, you need a girlfriend, Brass," Sara told him.

Brass sighed dramatically. "I know, but my best girl is taken." Sara grinned at him.

_There's that Sara smile_, Brass thought. "You're a lucky devil, Gil."

"Don't I know it." Gil and Sara shared a warm smile. They gathered their things and said goodbye. Brass found a table for one and watched them walk out, kiss, get into separate cars, then drive away in the same direction.

The next night was a busy one. Grissom walked through the halls, handing out assignments as he went. Nick and Warrick appeared together.

"Fellas, another incident at Lolita's."

"What now?" Warrick asked, taking the slip of paper.

"An erotic athlete claiming a 420-Z. The paramedics have her on a stretcher."

As Gris walked on he heard Nick say, "What the hell's an erotic athlete?"

"Well, I hope it's a tight end in a G-string," Warrick answered.

"Nice," Nick responded, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

Grissom caught up with Greg in the hallway.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"419 at Tagliferri's Restaurant on 8th Avenue."

"All right. Thanks! I'm on it." _A solo 419? Cool._

"Cath?" Grissom said, seeing her approach.

"Huh?"

"415-B at the Ha-Ha-Ha," he told her, reading off the next slip of paper. She took it from him and looked at it.

"What's the weapon? A Taser? Come on!" Catherine said sarcastically.

"An angry clown got pissed at some heckler with clogged arteries, and it caused a heart attack."

"So, Greg-O gets a hit at a mob restaurant, and I get a clown who can't take a joke?"

"Trust me, you don't want Greg's 419."

Sara came up to them and exchanged a casual, "Hey," with Catherine, who turned and left.

"Hey." Grissom told Sara, "CDC needs someone out at the Omdi-Tech offices on Boulder Highway. I'm sure it's not hazardous, or they wouldn't let us collect it."

Sara took the paper and examined it curiously, as they walked together.

"Okay. You coming with?" she asked hopefully.

Grissom said with resignation, "No, I'm spending the night in autopsy with the Lake Mead floater."

"Well, enjoy," Sara said sympathetically. "That guy was putrid. Oh, by the way...you left those miniatures unlocked."

"Yeah, I've been looking at them a lot lately." They nodded to each other and went their separate directions.

Grissom and Doc Robbins stood looking at the bloated discolored body on the slab before them. Grissom was wrinkling his nose. This guy _was_ putrid.

"No apparent puncture wounds, abrasions or lacerations. COD appears to be drowning," Robbins told him.

"We did pull him out of Lake Mead, you know," Grissom said sarcastically.

"Right. Based on decomp, I'd put TOD around 48 hours ago."

Just then, David Phillips pushed a headless corpse on a stretcher through the swinging doors.

"Where's his head, David?" Gris asked him.

"They haven't found it yet," Super Dave sighed.

"Day shift," Grissom scoffed. Robbins chuckled.

Grissom watched the coroner cut into the torso. As he reached the abdomen, the area under the skin moved. Grissom watched intently.

"Uh-oh. He's got gas. Phew," Gris said.

"Yeah, he's going to be a stinker," Al said calmly. "You want a mask?"

"No, I'm all right."

Doc Robbins continued the incision, but the skin kept moving strangely.

Robbins leaned back and said, baffled, "What the hell?"

As they watched, a rat suddenly burst out through the skin. It leapt away and landed on a table with a wet plop.

Robbins screamed, "RAT!"

Grissom grabbed a metal pan and tried to capture the rat, but he missed, instead smashing the glass and samples on the table. The rat scampered to the floor and ran. Robbins tried to stab at it with his crutch. He missed. The rat ran away from the two men.

"Get him! Get him!" Al yelled.

Grissom went in pursuit, but the rat escaped out the partially opened door.

"Oh." Grissom stopped and looked at Robbins, who said sarcastically, "Nice work."

Grissom glared back at him. "At least I _tried _to get him. Where were you?"

"I hate rats," Robbins said in deep disgust.

The sound of shattering glass and a scream came from the next room. Grissom sprinted in the direction of the noise, but the rodent was gone already.

Grissom kept searching without luck. Eventually Robbins and Dave joined him, dressed absurdly in protective gear.

"It's just a rat, fellas. Why are you wearing the HazMat gear?" Gris asked.

Phillips pointed to Robbins. "He made me do it."

"It's a wild animal covered with potentially biohazardous material with _claws_. Rabies, scabies, AIDS, hepatitis. I'm thinking of this suit as a giant rubber glove," Doc Robbins told them. Grissom shook his head. _The normally unflappable Al, afraid of rats? Who knew?_

In the distance, they heard scratching, squealing and thumping noises.

Robbins said dramatically, "Pestilence, alive and well." All the lights went off momentarily and then the backup generator kicked in.

"I think he's onto us, Doc," Grissom said ominously.

Grissom walked up to an electrical box with tendrils of smoke coming from it.

"Can you smell that?" he asked Robbins.

"Yes."

"You shouldn't be able to smell that through your suit."

"Good to know."

As Grissom dismantled the fuse box, he asked Robbins conversationally, "Did you know that rodents have skeletons with flexible joints?"

"No."

"If they can get their head through something," Grissom continued, "the rest of their body can contort to fit. They can crawl into spaces as small as a quarter."

"Lousy varmints," Robbins muttered darkly.

They found the rat dead and burned in the box, its teeth around a thick electrical cord.

"Bastard hit the main line," Doc said.

"That's not the only thing he's got in his mouth," Grissom said, pulling a blue pill out from the rat's mouth.

As Grissom continued to investigate the floater, who had blue pills of black tar heroin in his system, some of them appropriated by the hungry rat, Sara came back from her case. She strolled into the DNA lab and greeted Wendy.

"Hey."

"Hey," Wendy said.

Sara handed her an evidence bag, saying, "Here you go. I checked under the keys. Crusty white stains, pale blue under ALS."

"Semen, huh? What made you check under the keys?"

Sara gestured with her hands. "A butt print--on the credenza."

"Yeah, okay, that's gross."

"CDC contacted us, because the whole office has a herpes simplex 1 outbreak, and nobody could figure out why. I guess you never really know what's going on in your office," Sara told Wendy, turning to go.

Wendy spoke and Sara stopped abruptly.

"Hey, Sara? Is it true that the miniature cases have been keeping Grissom up at night?"

Sara felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown in her face. "How would I know?" she asked a little too quickly, her face showing shock.

Wendy didn't seem to notice her expression or tone of voice. "I just thought that maybe you guys all talk about this it, and...Hodges told me that Grissom confided in him and...You know what? Never mind. Just forget I even asked."

Sara relaxed a little but her voice still wavered. "Well, listen...I-I don't know what Hodges has been telling you, but...do you really think that Grissom would confide in him? About anything?"

"No. Of course not."

Sara left the DNA lab, breathing out a huge sigh of relief. _Phew. That was a close one. I should tell Gil._

Grissom returned to his office and was dumbfounded to find Hodges, in his chair, examining a miniature on his desk, and wearing his magnifying goggles.

"This better be good, Dave," Grissom said angrily, expecting him to leap up and apologize profusely. To his further amazement, Hodges just sat there, looked up at him, and said simply, "Bleach."

"What?"

Hodges took off the goggles and explained calmly, "I found a common element in all four miniatures...bleach. There's a bottle of it in the trash at Izzy's; there's a barrel of it at the chicken

plant, there's, uh, bleach in the flower water at Barbara's condo, and now..."

He handed Grissom a magnifying glass and forceps. Grissom examined the crumpled miniature bleach coupon gripped in the forceps.

Hodges continued, "...a bleach coupon in Penny's. If the killer is one of Ernie Dell's foster kids, maybe bleach played a role in some sort of childhood abuse. He's getting back at the world for what they did to him."

Grissom listened with his full attention.

Hodges continued. "This-this may sound crazy, but if the killer is a housekeeper or a

janitor, they would certainly know the ins and outs of each location, uh, what goes in what

drawer, what book on what bookshelf. Hours of operation, habits, schedules. I've thought a lot

about the killer's pathology, and there doesn't seem to be any regular interval between murders,

which makes me think that they're triggered by something. Maybe ... maybe the killer is

triggered by--bleach!"

Grissom thought intently, then mused, "The bellows."

"I'm sorry?"

"James Tilly Matthews. Early 19th century London. Matthews was in Bedlam Hospital, awaiting trial. Doctors were trying to determine his sanity. Several interviewed him. Half thought he was sane, half insane. Turns out he was perfectly normal ... except when someone mentioned politics. At that point, he'd go into a rage about the little men who lived underground and used a bellows to push thoughts into his mind, as well as the minds of Parliament and

the Queen. A specific object or word that triggers the urge to kill. That's a form of delusional psychosis. Rare, but it does exist."

"If the killer is one of Ernie Dell's foster kids, maybe bleach played a role in some sort of childhood abuse. He's getting back at the world for what they did to him," Hodges said excitedly.

"Well, if having bleach in your home is the common element among victims ... then anyone can be next."

"Did the victims use a common cleaning service?" Hodges asked.

"Not that we know of. However, it's not unusual for people with these pathologies to become vocal toward the institutions that they feel propagate the trigger."

"Maybe we could call bleach-manufacturing companies and see if they've received any hate mail," the lab rat suggested.

"Cross-reference correspondence...with Vegas postmarks. Might be able to narrow down neighborhoods."

Gris stopped, looking surprised and impressed. "Good job, Hodges."

Hodges blushed.

"Really," Grissom assured him. Hodges sighed happily.

"Now...do you mind?" Grissom said sternly, motioning with his head to say, _get out of my office._

Hodges got up, saying, "Absolutely..." As he reached the door he turned.

"I ... I'm sorry if I crossed the line. It won't happen again." Hodges smiled, left, then pumped his fist as he strode proudly down the hallway. _It's my lucky day._

Grissom sighed deeply and shook his head in wonder. The most annoying lab rat he'd ever known might just have broken the case. _What a strange day._ He smiled to himself, anticipating telling Sara all about it.

**TBC**

**A/N:** I think Lab Rats may be the funniest CSI episode ever. Rashomama and Ending Happy and You Kill Me are very funny as well, but this one takes the prize. Huge props to Sarah Goldfinger. Hope you enjoyed this retelling.

**TRUSTING THE TEAM: Chapter Three**

**On the home front. Smut alert!**

Sara was thrashing and yelling with fear in her sleep, which woke up Grissom. It took some time, but he was able to gently awaken her from her nightmare. She felt his warm strong arms around her and gradually calmed.

"Shh, honey. It's just a dream. You're safe. I'm here, you're safe," he murmured.

Sara finally opened her eyes. "God, Gil. Why can't I get these dreams to stop?"

"I don't know, dear. Hey, you haven't had any in a while."

"No. I haven't. Wonder why." She thought for a bit. "It doesn't help when I talk them out. It doesn't help when I just try to forget them. It didn't help when I told to my PEAP counselor about them."

"Did she have any advice?"

Sara grimaced. "Huh. Go to bed at a regular hour. Yeah, right. Limit your caffeine intake. Like that's going to happen. Warm milk. Yuck. Take sleeping pills. I can't do that–what if I get called in?"

Grissom scoffed, "Big help there."

"I know! See why I don't like counseling? They either repeat back what you just said, or spout some nonsense they read in a book. I hate baring my soul to a stranger, too."

"Me too. It's hard enough to bare my soul to my lover."

Sara snickered. "Hmm, we could bare something else then," she mumbled. Gil didn't hear her.

"It's early. Midmorning. Want to try to go back to sleep?" Grissom asked kindly.

"No, I can't sleep. It was pretty bad," Sara said, willing the disturbing images to fade.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Talking is overrated. Kissing my honey is underrated," Sara told him, smiling seductively. Gil's eyebrows went up. They started making out and taking off each other's clothes, kissing all over their warm skin. Grissom groaned.

"God yes, this is better than talking. You're so beautiful, Sara."

"Mmm," Sara silenced him with a deep languid kiss, stroking his naked body. Grissom tasted her tongue with his and sucked gently on her lips. Sara stroked his hair and down his shoulders and chest. Gil rolled them so they were lying on their sides and made his wet warm way down her neck, which made Sara shiver with pleasure and arch back. He caressed her breasts slowly and gently and stroked her nipples.

Sara licked and nibbled his ear and swirled her tongue in it. Grissom moaned and moved his hand down her slender body, across her back and sweet rounded ass, then between her legs. Sara parted her thighs willingly and he teased her folds open with his fingers as she panted short hot breaths under his chin and sucked his Adam's apple, then kissed and licked down to the hollow in his throat. She could feel his pleasured sounds vibrate against her mouth, which aroused her even more.

Their mouths joined together once more, the lovers caressed each other's genitals, slowly bringing each other to a peak of desire. Sara moved her leg over his hip and pulled him closer. Grissom's hard cock slid wetly through her labia as he rocked. Their long kiss broke as they whimpered and moaned and groaned each other's names.

Sara guided him inside her and he slid in snugly and the hot pleasure built between their thighs. Their movements synchronized instinctively. Gil began speeding up his thrusts.

The phone rang.

"Dammit!" Gil cried out.

"Ignore it," Sara urged hoarsely. The phone rang again.

"I...can't...you know this...God honey." Again the shrill sound echoed.

With an superhuman amount of self-control, Grissom awkwardly reached his arm behind him and grabbed the phone, knocking the base to the floor.

"Grissom!" he barked into it.

"Mr. Grissom! This is Sheila, from your realtor's office?" a woman's voice chirped.

"Yes?!" He swallowed a moan. Sara was grinding her pelvis against his.

Sheila continued cheerfully, "We'd like to meet with you and discuss your needs..." Gil bit his lip. _Needs._ Sara had his erection snugly held tight inside her with her pelvic muscles, as she gripped and squeezed his ass. "There are some fine houses on the market now. Would you...?"

Sara sucked and bit his nipple.

"Call you back," Grissom choked out desperately, tossing the phone over his shoulder and rolling Sara on to her back.

"You are evil, you know that?" Sara smirked at him. He thrust down into her and their pace increased with their heart rate. They got louder and their bodies slapped together.

On the other end of the phone, Sheila's eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect "o."

"Fuck, Sara. You feel so goddamn good."

"Yes! Oh God Yes!"

Sheila licked her lips and pictured them getting it on.

Gil groaned, feeling their orgasms getting closer.

Sheila briefly considered hanging up but she was too into it. _Damn this is hot._

Sara came hard, her walls stroking and squeezing Gil's big cock, her voice a near scream. Gil thrust hard and fast and fell, grunting, into the blissful depths.

Sara nuzzled into his neck.

"Oh God Sara I love you," he moaned.

"Gil you are...my love, my one and only." They snuggled in warm contentment.

Sara stirred. She looked across Gil's body.

"Oh shit."

"What?" Grissom asked.

"Look. The phone."

Grissom rolled over and saw the telephone lying off its cradle on the floor. They looked at each other and snickered. Gil got up and retrieved it and put it to his ear.

"Hello?" He heard a gasp and a click as someone hurriedly hung up. He decided to have a little fun with Sara, payback for her antics.

"Hello, Sheila?" He swallowed a laugh. "Yes, I'm here." He paused. Sara's eyes grew wide. "Yes, I just had amazing sex with my girlfriend, thanks." Sara's eyes narrowed and she scrambled toward him. _No way._ "Can't talk long. Looks like she's ready...she's insatiable..."

Sara leapt out of bed and grabbed the phone.

"Grissom! You are..." She heard the dial tone and smacked him.

"Payback's a bitch," Gil said, laughing helplessly.

Sara shoved him so hard he fell backwards on the bed, still laughing.

Sara made a show of putting the phone back on the night stand, giggling. She jumped on top of Grissom and straddled his waist.

"Do you think she was listening?"

Grissom grinned up at her. "Oh, I know she was."

"Really?"

"Yup. I heard her hang up when I said, 'Hello.'"

"She didn't. That's..."

"Hey, wouldn't you listen in on two people fucking? I would."

"I don't...I never...You're a guy, it's different."

"Yeah, whatever. Guess we need to find another realtor, though," Grissom said, grinning.

"Definitely." Sara tickled his ribs and he grabbed her feet and scratched along the bottom of them, making her squeal and squirm. Grissom rolled over and lifted her off the bed and carried her out of the bedroom.

"Gris! Where are you...?"

"To the shower. Wanna make you scream some more." Sara giggled.

When the water ran cold and Sara's back was sore from being pounded into the shower wall, they emerged, soaking wet and temporarily sated.

Grissom whistled tunelessly as he dressed. Sara smiled at him.

He flipped through the Yellow Pages and chose a name, vaguely recognizing it as a big company. Grissom dialed the realtor and explained what they were looking for, and made an appointment within the hour. They ate hurriedly and went to the office.

The pudgy salesman made some small talk but Grissom interrupted and got right to the point. He explained exactly what they were looking for. Sara expressed her wishes clearly too. Mr. Barnes moved his laptop over so they could both see it and stepped out to make some phone calls.

The couple scrolled through the choices, instantly discarding the ones that were too small, too grand, or houses described as 'fixer-uppers'. They agreed in near silence on some promising ones and Sara efficiently jotted down notes.

John Barnes came back in. "Okay! Things look good for later in the week..."

Grissom said firmly, "We'd like to do this as soon as possible. Are there any open houses today?"

"My, my. What's the rush? You two expecting a baby?"

Sara and Grissom glared at him. Barnes cleared his throat and looked uneasy.

Sara took pity on him. "We're criminalists, Mr. Barnes. Time is essential to us. Wasted time means unsolved crimes. Unsolved crimes means unpunished murderers. Do you understand?"

"Uh..." _Murderers? _

Grissom gazed at Sara with admiration in his eyes. "You're right, Sara. I never thought of it that way...but you're right. Waiting in line, being stuck in traffic, being put on hold, are all aggravating. The only benefit to me is the chance to think."

Grissom looked back at the realtor. "I was thinking more along the lines of–we could get called in at any moment. We could get a case that ties us up for days–weeks even." Sara nodded in agreement.

"Okay then!" Barnes said. "Where should we start? Do you have any homes in mind?" Sara gave him her notebook.

He looked it over and nodded. "Let's go!"

Mr. Barnes drove to the first house, chattering nonstop. Sara stepped inside and turned around. Grissom took an appraising look and then raised an eyebrow to her. She shook her head.

"Next."

Barnes started to describe the home's features but Grissom silenced him with a cold stare. _These people are weird._

He drove them to the next house, still talking nervously. Sara walked slowly up the walkway, scanning the exterior intently. Grissom did the same.

Sara turned around and grinned at him.

"What is it?"

"Should I take the perimeter?" Sara said, giggling. Grissom snorted. Barnes rolled his eyes. _Not just weird, they're nuts._ He let them go inside and mopped the sweat from his brow.

"How's it feel to you, Gil?"

"Not bad. But..."

"Ceiling's too low."

"Yeah." They walked out briskly and got in Barnes' car without a word. Barnes got back in and punched in an address on his GPS unit. Grissom's cell phone rang.

"Grissom. Where? Catherine there yet? OK. OK. Be there in...an hour or so. No. We're house...," he sputtered. _Oops._ "Uh, I'm not at home. I'll call Sara." He hung up.

"Drive." Grissom looked at Sara. "DB in Summerlin. Cath's on her way. Warrick isn't answering...I said _drive!_"

"Uh...where to?" Barnes stuttered.

"Your office. Time's a wasting."

**TBC**

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Happiness in Funny Places.

With Grissom's intense glare propelling him, Mr. Barnes made a speedy return to the office parking lot, babbling away. Sara called Nick at the scene and got more details in the meantime.

Getting back in their car, Grissom heaved a sigh of aggravation.

"God I thought that guy would never shut up."

Sara snickered. "We seem to be going through realtors in record time today."

Grissom chuckled. "Yeah. Enough of the middlemen. I'll call his office and have him put the townhouse up for sale. That's it."

"Agreed," Sara said heartily. "We can find our own house without all that...Barnes babble. And phone sex!"

He snickered. "What a team we are." Sara flashed her big Sidle grin at him.

Catherine was delayed on another case and had left a message for Warrick to meet her there. With Nick, Sara, and Grissom, they had more than enough talent to process the Summerlin case, and they did so with their well-honed efficiency.

Grissom took Nick aside when the body was being driven away and the cops were loitering out of earshot.

"Nick. Got a minute?"

"Sure, Gris. What's up?"

"I...well, we, Sara and I, have some news," Grissom told him, looking uncharacteristically flustered. Nick was puzzled but gave him his full attention.

"We're getting a house together."

Nick whooped and Grissom shushed him.

"Jeez. Will you pipe down?"

"Sorry. I'm happy for you guys, that's all."

Sara heard the commotion and approached. They exchanged a happy grin and Nick winked at her.

"So, we haven't found a place yet or even put my townhouse up for sale, but..."

"We move fast," Sara filled in.

"Literally," Grissom said, and they chuckled together.

"So, I need a couple of favors."

"Anything." Nick assured him.

"First, I'm going to give you our new contact information. I'll give it to Brass too, but no one else. Only in case of emergency, understand?"

"Got it. Hush hush."

"Second, both Sara and I are going to need help packing, taking stuff to Goodwill and the dump, sprucing up, all that jazz..."

"Sure. And as the able-bodied Mr. Dependable, who just happens to have a pickup truck..."

"You are our first choice, Muscles," Sara said sweetly, batting her eyes at him and getting another trademark Stokes grin.

"Say the word, boss. I'll be glad to."

Grissom smiled too. "Naturally, refreshments will be provided."

"Naturally. Brewskis and pizza and I'm at your service," Nick concluded, liking to be a part of Grissom and Sara's inner circle. _Lifting boxes? No biggie. I'll just skip a week at the gym._

"When's your next night off?" Grissom asked.

"Day after tomorrow."

"Excellent. Come by my townhouse a few hours before shift tomorrow?"

"I'll be there with bells on."

"Right! Thanks, Nick. Shall we return to the lab?"

"We shall."

They had only just started with the Summerlin DB and distributed the evidence when a 419 call came in, from the Sugar Cane Ranch way out in Brime County.

Sara and Grissom left immediately and Nick got to work on their case, saying he'd drive out in a couple of hours.

Grissom greeted the local sheriff, then asked him, "Where's your coroner?"

"Oh, couldn't get him on the horn," Sheriff Ned Bastille responded. "Probably out in some barn, up to his elbows in a cow's vagina..."

Sara was startled. "Excuse me?" The sheriff bashfully explained the coroner was also a veterinarian.

The case only got weirder and weirder from then on. The personal highlight, for Sara, was a short conversation with Gil, in which he answered a lingering question of hers; no, he had never paid for sex and found the whole idea bleak and sad. And yes, Sara made him happy, because they had the magic combination of sex with love. It kept her smiling to herself for hours.

All of them, Nick, Sara, Greg, Brass, Warrick, Catherine–and of course Grissom–eagerly met up at their favorite hangout after it was wrapped and swapped all the new stories. They got rowdier and more hilarious with each round of beer.

"So this old guy says, 'Somebody shot my wife!'"

"The sheriff is telling us about what a mom-and-pop place this is and a hooker taps him on the shoulder and gives him back his gunbelt..."

"No wait, you'll never believe the weapons I found in the hookers' bedrooms..."

"Hoo! Hodges...he was telling me about picking up a whore when he was 17 and it turned out she was an undercover cop..."

"'Nice hat honey'. You should have seen Sara's face..."

"And he whips out a photo of his late wife with an arrow stuck right between the eyes..."

"I asked Binky–when was the last time you saw the deceased? And he says, get this, 'About an hour ago, when they took him away on that cart...'"

"Shot with a crossbow, anaphylaxis from a blowjob, injected with rattlesnake venom...oh and did I forget conked on the head with a crowbar? COD? The lawn chair did it!"

"Ask Grissom why they keep the swimming pools at bathwater temperature in whorehouses..."

"Man, did I enjoy taking DNA today. Did I thank you for letting me out in the field lately, Grissom?"

"Joe Frazier, Mike Tyson, Joe Louis, Ali..."

"Doris says, 'I'll let you in on the 'cop special.'"

"World's ugliest johnson. I swear to God. I thought Warrick was going to pass out..."

"Encourages the girls to swim topless..."

"Handcuffs, mace, Tasers, brass knuckles..."

"Dreama Little. I kid you not. That was her real name. I asked her and she started singing to me..."

"Huh! I had that old guy who looked just like James Whitmore quoting Longfellow at me..."

"Yeah! Did you see Milton's furry eyebrows? He looked like he had a pair of caterpillars on his face..."

"And I said, 'Do I look like Paula Abdul to you'?"

They went on, yelling over each other and not caring if they were heard or not–these were stories that they would be happily telling and retelling and listening to for years to come, with great and undimmed pleasure.

Wiping the tears from their eyes and shouting drunken goodbyes, the happy team cabbed to their respective homes and collapsed. For one night all the grim sad gruesome stories were banished and they slept the sleep of the blessed. Only to awake with hangovers from hell, but it was worth it, after all.

A/N: Of course this is the episode Ending Happy. You all knew that. Watch it again–or better yet–read the transcript online...written by Evan Dunsky. What a hoot. By the way, Nick discovered the GSR secret in the previous story, HEAT. That's why he suddenly knows all about it now. Thanks for your patience with my finishing that one before I finally got back to this. I couldn't ask for a better bunch of reviewers. (*hint hint*)

**TBC**

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Teamwork**.

Nick, a little worse for wear and tear, came over to Grissom's place as agreed the next evening. Sara took pity and plied him with cold non-alcoholic drinks and Alka-Seltzer until he returned to his usual cheery self. They all ordered pizza but agreed that sodas were better for the work that night.

Grissom and Nick each took a cluttered closet and Sara shuffled between, asking whether Grissom wanted to keep this or that, and piling up the trash and recyclables by the door. Nick came across Gil's softball gear bag and took it to him.

"Hey. You're a great ballplayer, Gris. Coach too. Why don't we have those games anymore?"

"Good question, Nick. Thanks. You're a good player too. We really should start that up again."

"And kick Ecklie's ass?" Sara asked. They all chuckled.

"Yeah, teamwork is great and all, but the look on Ecklie's face is better–like when I hit another home run! Wipes that weaselly look right off his face," Nick said, smirking. They all chuckled.

"It's on. I'll post a signup sheet for practice in the breakroom tonight," Grissom said cheerfully, immediately drafting one on his computer. "You get your pick of positions, Nick."

"First base."

"Good choice. Sara?"

"Um, shortstop," she chose.

"Excellent. We need your long legs for running, so you can be a pinch runner too. And steal some more bases, okay?" Sara was grinning at him. "Third base for me and coach again."

"Warrick?" Nick asked.

"He'll probably choose pitcher, but he could definitely play left field again. Great hands and helluva arm. Nice fastball. Archie can relieve him as pitcher and play outfield. Good curve ball." They nodded.

"Catherine is a pretty good catcher," Sara reminded him, all of them getting in the spirit of Grissom's 'beautiful game.'"

"She is. Not exactly a power hitter, but otherwise okay. And she loves having Lindsay help out with the equipment and be the bat boy...I mean girl," Grissom said, smiling.

"Greg? Second base?" Sara asked.

"Definitely. Good fielder," Grissom said, jotting these down. "Who else?"

"Bobby? Center field?" Nick suggested.

"Yes."

"Hodges?" Sara said playfully. They all groaned.

"Hodges can be_ manager_," Grissom said firmly. "No way in hell he's going near a ball or a bat or a glove. Couldn't even toss a handgun on a _roof_, for crying out loud. Keep score, handle the logistics, that'll keep him happy. We'll probably need new uniforms?"

"Yeah," Sara agreed. "You've lost weight, Gris." He blushed and looked pleased. "And you've bulked up, Nick." He looked flattered and preened a little, flexing his biceps and making Sara giggle.

"Right field?" Gil asked.

"Henry?" suggested Nick.

"Good. Mandy, Wendy, David, everybody else, we'll get them in the lineup too. This will be fun."

"It sure will, Gris." Nick agreed while Sara looked at him affectionately.

"So. Batting practice this week, fielding practice next week...we're all a little rusty," Grissom concluded. They got back to work, musing on the games to come and reminiscing with each other about their most brilliant plays in the past.

The time passed easily. Nick boxed books and Sara went through the kitchen stuff. Noticing a pause in activity from Grissom's office, she checked on him. He was sitting in his chair, reading glasses down his nose, looking through the photo album which had so impacted their relationship. _He's so cute like this._

"Hey," she greeted him.

He looked up and smiled at her sweetly. They shared a kiss and a cuddle.

"Ah, the photo album," Sara said, sitting in his lap and leafing through it.

Nick glanced in on his way to the bathroom and grinned to himself. _They are such a great couple. Made for each other. Hope I find my Sara someday._

Nick took a load to the recycling center and stopped at his place on the way to work. Sara and Grissom got randy as soon as he left and when he suggested a shared shower she had no objection.

They washed each other's hair at the same time, teasingly washing the other hairy parts too. The hot water beat on their backs as things got hotter. Gil lifted her leg and guided himself in slickly and they were off and pumping like a piston. When they had climaxed easily and shared another long sweet kiss, they washed each other off again. Grissom groaned when he remembered they had to leave for work.

"I could make love to you for days, Sara," he said, toweling her off.

"No doubt. You have amazing stamina, hot stuff."

He smirked. "Think we can make up for lost time?"

"What lost time?" Sara asked dreamily as she toweled off his chest and muscular arms. "Every day with you has been a gift."

"Oh, Sara. You're so good to me, love. You've been my greatest gift too," Gil said emotionally. If the alarm clock hadn't gone off then they might have stayed there kissing all through their shift.

But duty called and they answered as always. Grissom announced the softball team news at assignments and everyone brightened and chattered about it. He posted the practice schedule and signup sheet and they all added their names before going to their various scenes.

Catherine worked companionably with Grissom on a pile of evidence. She gave him an appraising look.

"You're pretty chipper these days, Gil."

"Yeah. Guess I am. Life is good."

"Glad to hear it," Catherine said. "Nice to get a break from Grumpy Grissom."

"Am I really that bad?"

"Ah, sometimes. I'm no Pollyanna myself." He chuckled.

"We're like a comfortable old married couple," Grissom said easily, getting a narrow-eyed look from Catherine.

"Wow, you really _are_ happy. That's the nicest thing you've said to me in weeks," Cath said with surprise. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were getting..."

"How's your love life, Catherine?" Grissom interrupted.

She didn't seem to mind. It was one of her favorite topics. "Huh. What love life. Why do I pick so many losers?"

Grissom shook his head and listened indulgently as she regaled him with her latest.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER SIX**

With all that was going on in their lives, Grissom and Sara barely crossed paths for over six weeks. Gris put his townhouse up for sale, and with the housing market booming, he had offers within days. That put additional pressure on both of them to hurriedly prepare for their moves and find a new place together. One that suited them both, and though their wants were similar, their tastes were not so much, and it was difficult to balance them.

They had to go house-hunting separately to accommodate their busy schedules, and then arrange for the other to see the ones they each liked. It was harder to communicate by phone than in person, especially when one or the other or both were distracted with work or sorting or packing boxes.

Grissom was still drawn to big empty spaces and rooms like the ones he had been living in--though he thought he could imagine a place like Sara described. She became frustrated trying to describe to him what she imagined and why the ones he liked didn't fit. Sara felt uncomfortable in big white echoing rooms–exposed.

"What about that one on Walnut?" Grissom asked one afternoon, as they were eating a hurried meal.

Sara bit back an exasperated noise. It looked and was laid out exactly like his townhouse.

"Honey. I see the ones you like...," she tried to think of some way to communicate this without insulting him. "And I...they feel like institutions. Like living in a hospital."

"Ah!" Grissom responded, finally getting it. "Okay. Hmm. How about...you take over this week? Go around and get a good look and a feel, and then–I'll go later."

"Okay," Sara said. "I'll do that." She had wanted to suggest this, but didn't want to be too demanding.

"We need to look at them together though, if possible," she suggested. "We must be able to find the time somehow."

"You're right. I know I respond...differently when we're not together. I seem to keep going back to my bachelor ways."

"And I to my spinster ways," she joked, and the tension lifted.

Though Sara tried to picture all these empty houses cozier with all their furniture and collected books and specimens and rugs and stuff on the walls–it was hard. She'd never shopped for a house before, only apartments, and with those there were only a few questions to answer. How much is the rent? The utilities? How far is it to work? Will my stuff fit? That was pretty much it. Simple.

Now there were many more questions. How much is the mortgage? Sara had never had a mortgage and the whole idea made her feel dumb and vulnerable and nervous. What's the neighborhood like? The neighbors? What kind of shape is the house in? Plumbing? Wood frame? Foundation? Electricity? Insulation? Do all the appliances work? Does it need a contractor? Inspections? Is it up to code? Are there carpenter ants or termites? Does the roof leak? Sara realized that she'd grown accustomed to calling the landlord or super whenever anything broke–it was all so easy.

She also knew that she was pretty easy-going with neighbors and was asleep during the day or working at the lab all night, so she didn't have much contact with any of them.

But with both of them living there, wanting to be free and open and loving with each other, noise or windows or modesty be damned, there might be more conflicts.

Grissom struggled with all these questions and many others too. He also worried how to make them both to feel fully at home. What about privacy? Traffic? Noise? How hard would it be to sleep during the day? Is it too small? Cramped? Would he and Sara be getting in each other's way? How much of his belongings, his insects and specimens, would he have to give up? How secure are the locks, how safe the neighborhood? Is there a bad smell? Mold? Is it too far from the lab? Would they be delayed by narrow streets or construction or tourists to get there in a hurry?

On and on. They puzzled together and alone, and the joy of making this step of commitment dimmed, from all the demands and questions.

Fortunately, money was less of an issue than it could have been. The realtor insisted that Grissom ask much more for his house than he ever would have dared; and none of the prospective buyers blinked an eye. In fact they started bidding, higher and higher, and the winning bidder paid a sum that boggled his mind. Grissom told Sara happily they could afford anything she--they--wanted. Naturally, she was delighted.

So she set out with fewer restrictions in mind. And the possibilities and problems of breakdowns and upkeep could be taken care of by professionals, not by them, and not in their limited free time. She hunted in the nicer neighborhoods, the ones with parks or other amenities nearby. She looked at houses she might only have driven by before with an envious sigh. She checked the Internet and the newspaper listings with an eye, not of extravagance, but of comfort and great extra features. A Jacuzzi in the backyard. Or a pool. A high fence for privacy. An established garden. A fireplace. A great view. Granite counters. A state of the art kitchen. Internet access in every room. Extra bathrooms, with lots of space. Wood paneling. A balcony. Nothing had everything, but every one of them had something to recommend it.

It was almost fun, if she didn't have to keep leaving for work or to run back to her box-filled apartment and sort through all her belongings, and bring up all those memories, and decide what to get rid of, and do all the drudgery and labor involved in moving.

Nick helped. A lot. He shuttled between their homes and volunteered his precious free time with each. Grissom and Sara usually had to sleep separately as they packed their stuff until they collapsed in exhaustion, grabbing a few precious hours of sleep before going in for another long arduous shift. It was all grueling.

Sara dealt with her lease and finally hired a moving service to pack up everything that was left and put it in storage. She lived with Gil again, a relief to both, and they could deal more efficiently with the house-hunting and moving out. He hired the same service to come over every couple of days and remove everything he was going to keep, to the same storage place. That got rid of most of the aggravating clutter and gave them some breathing room.

He let Nick have his choice of whatever he was going to get rid of, and enjoyed how Nick reacted, picking stuff he could give to his extended family and friends (and not have to Christmas shop for a full year) and a few modest things for himself. Sara gave him some of her stuff as well, redundant kitchen supplies and books or journals and DVDs, and they felt less guilty about using their good friend's help and strong back.

Sara burst into Grissom's office one evening all excited. Grissom knew. He had to get rid of Catherine tactfully and shut the door, barely containing his own anticipation.

"I found it, Gil. You'll love it," Sara told him in a loud excited whisper.

"Yeah?" His face was lit up.

"Yeah." Sara was grinning.

"Think we can sneak away and have a look?" Gil said slyly.

"Only if the boss doesn't catch us." They snickered.

"Ah, don't worry about him. Oblivious jerk," he joked. Sara giggled.

"Hm. Meet you at your car in 15?"

"Don't be late!" Sara dashed out. It was her night off and no one minded–she was always popping in and out whether she was on shift or not.

Grissom checked in with all the team perfunctorily, brushing off Catherine's suspicious inquiries. He just told her he had some personal business to attend to and left before she could ask any more questions.

Sara described the house as she drove.

"It's big–but not too big. Exterior is old-fashioned, kind of European villa style. Great neighborhood. Stone floors as you go in. Welcoming foyer that opens out into a wide sunny room, with a staircase going up and a view of the yard. A pool! A hot tub! Privacy fence! And a view of Vegas, it's on a hill. Then a big–comfortable-sized--living/TV/music--room to your right. Polished wood floors. Kitchen is in the back. Wait till you see that! You'll go nuts. Two rooms of equal size to your left. His and hers offices!"

She glanced from the road at him. He looked fascinated and very impressed.

"The staircase leads to the master bedroom, with the same back view, and a balcony. Huge. Closets for days. Master bath. Deluxe! The guest bedroom is down the hall to the right. It's sweet. Nice bathroom right next to that. And another room to the left–it's shaped like a tower!–could be the library?"

"God, Sara! It sounds ideal!"

"I know!" she yelled, delighted.

"There's a full basement. With a dirt floor–sounds icky, but I've always liked the smell, you know? Shelves and shelves, floor to ceiling."

"For my bugs!" Grissom cried out. Sara laughed.

"The driveway–gravel--is long. It's all set back, so you can't see it from the road. It curves back to the road, so you don't have to back out. A two-car garage!"

Grissom cheered.

"And there's no neighbors–not close ones anyway. It's on a cul-de-sac, so no through traffic. Community center, park, trails, all within walking distance."

"How far away is this dream house?"

"Ah. It is a drive–45 minutes, an hour?"

"I don't care," Grissom said heartily. "Maybe they'll get used to me–us–not showing up in the blink of an eye when we get called in." Sara giggled. "And a commute? It's not so bad. I get a chance to gear up before work, think stuff over. And decompress afterward."

"Yes! I know what you mean," Sara said. "My apartment in Frisco was 5 minutes from the lab. I thought it was great when I got it. But it was...too quick. I'd still be in personal mode when I got there, and in work mode when I went home. Unsettling. And of course I was on call and expected to show up instantly."

"This is it," she said eagerly, turning into the street. Sara drove smoothly up the drive, the gravel crunching under the tires. She pulled to a stop at the entrance.

Grissom sat in the passenger seat in awe, looking all over, up and down and around. Sara watched his reactions with pleasure.

"Wow," he finally said. "I love it already."

And they did.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

As Sara had predicted, Grissom immediately fell in love with the house. Neither had ever thought much about what their dream house might look like or be like, but this–this was it. Grissom felt at home as soon as he walked through the door. The happiness, the relief, the satisfaction, of finding it, of making this huge decision together, ah, it was wonderful.

So they made a firm offer. The owner was eager to sell–he was moving away–so that transaction, at least, went fairly smoothly. With all his ready cash Grissom could make a huge down payment (which made the seller very happy) and get a very reasonable monthly mortgage bill. Sara could pay her half without any bother.

Grissom and Sara sat down with the realtor and lawyer and went through the paperwork, all the massive and baffling paperwork, involved in buying a house. Sara tried to follow the conversation, but terms like amortization and fixed and balloon mortgages and deeds and interest rates and fees and commissions made her head hurt. She excused herself and left to run errands. Grissom handled all that eventually and signed papers until his hand cramped.

Grissom prudently insisted on getting a full inspection, though, before he signed anything. As with any house, the inspector found things that needed to be fixed and changed and upgraded, and all those repairs required appointments and being present to let the repairmen in and keep an eye on them. It had to be done, and soon. Sara ended up doing most of that as the owner had already relocated. She asked for advice from her coworkers on their experiences with plumbers and electricians and the like, but was stumped when they asked why she needed them, didn't she live in an apartment? So she had to go with her gut and hire tradesmen who seemed reputable and responsible. If anyone seemed shady she fired them.

And, since Grissom was also selling his townhouse, the inspections had to be done there as well, and all _his_ maintenance and repairs needed to be dealt with before the buyer closed, compounding the tedious chores.

Once they began to move in, there were hundreds of decisions to make. What went where. How the furniture was arranged. The kitchen–they each had preferences on where the plates and pots and frying pans went–-little stuff, but they needed to be worked out for the sake of harmony. How much bathroom space each needed. Where their personal stuff, photos and files and mementos and art and so on would go. What they needed to buy–like pool and patio stuff, that neither had before. All the myriad adjustments and compromises two independent people have to make to live together.

And the preparing and the packing and the unpacking seemed endless. Before anything could be put away, counters and cupboards and bookshelves needed to wiped down, rugs scrubbed before they were rolled up, clothes and linens and blankets freshly cleaned, everything dusted and vacuumed. Sara's feminist side rebelled at having to do all this, even though she knew it would benefit and bring comfort to them both.

Then there were all the phone calls and people to contact. Change the mailing address. The phone number. Notify the ones that didn't forward mail, magazine and journal subscriptions and creditors. Newspapers–Grissom had always gotten the NY Times and Sara the Las Vegas Sun--the list went on. Shut off the power and utilities to the old address and switch to the new one. Internet service. Cable. Insurance, that was a major headache in itself! Keep all the bills paid. Trash and sewer and property taxes. Heat and A/C and get someone to maintain them. Hire someone to keep the pool clean, cut the grass, clean the gutters, trim the trees--maybe a cleaning service? Decide which appliances to keep and which to replace. And so on and so on. Once again, Sara had to do most of it. She got even less sleep than usual and that made her irritable.

Next they had to get acquainted with the new neighborhood. Where the closest gas stations were. The post office. Takeout places and new hangouts. Repair shops. Supermarket. Banks. Coffee shops and bars and restaurants. Dry cleaners. Pharmacy. Explore the different routes to and from work, if the regular one was tied up with traffic. How to get to all the crime scenes from a different starting point. At least Grissom was enthused about that. He said he felt like he was discovering Vegas all over again, the good parts, not just murder scenes, and Sara grinned and agreed.

When his townhouse was completely emptied out with only dust and bare walls remaining, Sara watched respectfully as Grissom walked from room to room, touching counters and windowsills and doors. Saying goodbye.

He looked at her and muttered, "I did a lot of good work here. I found a nice home. But best of all, I found you."

Her eyes moistened and her breath hitched and they embraced. Sara led him over to a spot by the kitchen counter and asked, "Do you remember what happened here?"

"Sure," he answered warmly. "This was the first place I ever told you I loved you."

"And where I first told you." So they told each other again, and shared sweet kisses.

"Know what else?" Sara asked.

"What?"

"My bed, where we first made love? That's going to be our guest bed. So we can carry that memory with us."

"That's right," Grissom said, his eyes crinkling. "We may have to re-christen it, though."

Sara giggled at him and said, "Hey, we don't need to go back to where we first kissed, though."

"Way out there in the desert?" Grissom exclaimed. "No, I think we can just remember that one!"

When they could spend time like this, it was all good. But the crimes and criminals didn't let them for long.

At work, Grissom lost himself in contemplating and minutely examining the miniatures again. The bleach lead hadn't panned out and the trail went cold. He knew this killer was still out there and could strike again, against anyone, seemingly at random, any time he chose. It nagged at him, and as Wendy had said, it kept him up at night. Whenever he wasn't on a new case or supervising or helping with one, he returned to his office and pored over them. Grissom told Brass once he knew what it was like to lose himself in little things–and he was. Sara tried to help and sympathize but he only told her resignedly, "I'll deal with it." He was gone from home–both of them--a lot.

Sara tried to help, to pick up the slack, to keep on top of everything, but the strain was starting to show. Choking down her resentment only made it worse; she knew it would blow up someday and it was a struggle not to. Grissom, as usual, didn't notice. He was grateful for everything she was doing, but a "thanks, honey" is only a band-aid, not a cure.

When he left his dirty underwear and socks on the bathroom floor, _again_, Sara confronted him. Gil countered that she always left the shampoo and conditioner and liquid soap containers with their tops loose, and when he knocked them over he had to clean up or risk breaking his neck. He showed her the latest puddle.

"Klutz," Sara called him.

"Kvetch," he retorted.

"Schlemiel," Sara shot back.

"Schlimazel," Gris called her.

Sara tried to think of another Yiddish insult, but could only come up with, "Shiksa."

Grissom snorted. "Shiksa? You called me a Gentile woman? Ooh, dem's fightin' words."

He tossed a sponge at her. Sara grabbed a wet towel and snapped it at his legs. He poured shampoo down her shirt. Sara got him in a headlock and made him say _Uncle_. They ended up laughing and making love on the tiled floor, rolling around in the slick soaps.

Sara had her own cases to deal with, of course, and many of them consumed her to the point of exhaustion. She was pulled in all directions and it was stressful to always have to hunt for simple basic things, such as clothes and shoes or the coffeepot or the can opener or a decent reading lamp, and either dig them out or make do. Trying to remember if they were in storage or at the townhouse and which box they were in–aggravating. They lived on takeout and she had to buy all the little stuff, toiletries and staples and cleaning supplies and paper plates and plastic tableware, on and on. It felt like she was always running to the store for something. A never-ending circuit from lab to townhouse to The Villa (as they dubbed it) to grocery stores and hardware stores and back to the lab again.

With all the strain and miles on her car, it broke down, as always at the most inconvenient time. Sara had to get it towed and then wait for hours and hours before being told it was not worth repairing. So now there was car shopping to add to her burdens. This, at least, could be helped along by her friends. Greg, especially, was very helpful in driving her around and looking at decent used cars and researching the makes and models in Consumer Reports and so on, but she couldn't ask him to drop her at Grissom's townhouse and keep their secret, or at her apartment, as it had already been rented to someone else. So Greg, dear kind Greg, always took her back to the lab. He gave up asking her why, and once again she felt bad for lying to him.

Back at the crime lab, Sara had to wait around for Grissom to give her a ride home, which was annoying and too often a waste of time. Usually she just started working again. Or she would get stranded at Grissom's if he had to go in early or solo.

Brass gave her rides, when he could, and asked after her, how she was sleeping, and if Grissom was treating her well, and that was a comfort and a release. Nick, too, could drive her some of the time but it was miles and miles out of his way.

Sara finally rented a car, a short term solution, but needed to make the decision for the long term. She bit the bullet and decided on a brand new Toyota Prius, dark blue, with all kinds of extra features, and that lovely new car smell.

Sara felt good that she was doing her bit for the environment, saving on gas and polluting less, but it too had complications. She was insulted when the salesman said she needed a co-signer for the car loan. Sara had maintained great credit, paid her bills on time, had a good job and income, never spent much or ran up huge bills, paid off any loans she had in the past promptly and in full, and yet she needed a _man--a husband--_to convince this jerk? _God! Sexism is alive and well in the 21__st__ century! _Sara bit back all the sarcastic replies that leapt to mind and stormed out.

She seethed about it for days, until Jim asked what was bothering her. Brass went back to the dealership with her and put the little weasel in his place, using his authoritative bad cop bluster and scaring the bejeezus out of him. He even knocked the price down over two thousand dollars. Sara bought him a beer and a shot and they had a good laugh afterwards.

She worked off more of her frustration painting her new office, enjoying the freedom to choose the colors and decorate it and see it transformed into her own space. This room was hers. All the rest, except for Grissom's office, Sara would happily share. But to have one room, all hers, arranged and organized any damn way she pleased? It gave her tremendous peace of mind and made her truly feel at home.

Sara blessed Grissom for inviting her to live with him. That was huge. And blessed him again for agreeing to buy a house–and what a house!–together. For consulting and respecting her judgement and taste on just about everything she asked for, without being any less of a man. What a difference from the conflicts with her boss in the past! Most of all for being such a kind and generous and loving man. All these troubles, she knew, would soon be a distant memory, and the joy of setting up house together would be--what would last.

Finally the day came when all their furniture had been moved in by professionals and carried upstairs and into rooms where they would stay. Finally all the boxes and lamps and breakables were brought in and left in their proper rooms. At last the night came, the first night they would spend together in their new house. Grissom took the night off and promised Sara it would be in taken care of when she got home.

Sara had her doubts, picturing him getting lost in some project or just falling asleep, and wondered whether they would spend their first night on the couch. She pushed those thoughts away as she immersed herself in work, only having them resurface as she drove home dog-tired.

Sara opened the door. She was struck dumb by the sight in front of her. A trail of rose petals and small lit candles led out to the patio. She followed it, to another display of candles all around the pool and some floating in paper contraptions in the blue water. And there was Grissom, in a white terrycloth robe, lounging on a futon-sized lawn chair she'd never seen before, with lots of scattered cushions.

He leapt up and kissed her and presented her with a single perfect red rose. Sara blushed. Gil led her by the hand and had her take off her shoes and lie down, then he turned. He had an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne and popped it open and presented her with a flute of bubbly. Sara giggled, her eyes dancing in the candlelight, as he poured another for himself.

"To us," Gil toasted.

"To us," Sara echoed, and they took a sip.

"For all that you've done, honey."

"Thanks," Sara said shyly.

"I mean it. I made you work so hard. And just expected you to do all that you've done to make this our beautiful home."

"To our beautiful home. Our villa," Sara toasted. They took another sip.

Grissom reached under a cushion and pulled out her red bikini.

"Let's relax in the hot tub," he said, and she laughed and threw her clothes aside and changed into it, Grissom watching with a smile. Then he stood up and tossed off the robe and revealed that he was wearing nothing but a Speedo, the same red color as her bikini. Sara laughed in delight.

"My, my. What a body you've been hiding!" she teased.

Grissom smirked. He helped her into the hot tub, turned on the jets, and let her lean back against him and breathe a deep sigh of relief.

"Hey," Sara said. "I need to say something."

"Go ahead."

"I know you are dedicated to finding this Miniature Killer. I understand how important it is. But...sometimes...you need to let these cases go, until we get a break in the case, you know?"

Grissom nodded, looking serious.

"Haven't you always told me not to get so involved? You can't keep looking at the same little details and learn anything more."

"You're right. I...let myself get obsessed again. And I carried that home with me too. I've been...neglecting you."

"Ah, I get it. Getting all romantic–like this–you're making up for it!"

"Good."

She turned and kissed him sensuously and he kissed her back with passion. Pulling away for air, he gave her a wicked smile and reached over to a small cooler. Sara watched with curiosity. Grissom pulled out a tub of fresh sweet strawberries and they fed them to each other sexily, kissing and tasting the strawberries and champagne from each other's mouths and moaning with desire.

Gil helped her from the hot tub and they toweled each other off, lingering in the secret places. His erection was clearly defined under the Speedo and she smirked. He chased her inside and up the stairs to the bedroom.

Here, there was another surprise. The bed all made up with new sheets and blankets and pillowcases, and a her black teddy–his favorite–laid across it. Gil lit more candles and she changed into it. He gazed at her with admiration and lust.

"God, you're gorgeous. Sexy too."

"So are you," Sara said, lying back on the bed. "Hey! Is this a new mattress?"

"It is. A...housewarming present."

"Well, we better warm it up then."

Gil laughed and stripped off his bathing suit and leapt into bed. They made love joyfully for hours.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

The next day Sara drove home with a pleasant feeling of anticipation. The garage door slid open with a push of a button and Sara enjoyed watching it–she'd never had a garage, let alone one with a remote. She pulled in and was glad to see Grissom's car was already parked inside.

Sara went into the villa and called Gil. He came out of his office, reading glasses down his nose, in a snug short-sleeved shirt that showed off his well-developed forearms.

"Hi, honey," Gil said, coming forward to give her a sweet kiss.

"Mmm," Sara said. "You look very sexy. Did I ever tell you I have a thing for your arms?"

Gil looked at them. _They're just arms_. "Really?"

"Oh yes. Those big muscles, they turn me on something fierce."

"Rea..lly," Gil said, flattered and getting a little turned on himself.

She was stroking them sensuously. "Mm hmm. And when I see them flexing and rippling–hooee. They're one of your best features. Along with your gorgeous eyes. And, well, everything else." Now she was stroking all over his body.

Gil kissed her passionately. "Maybe we should move this to the bedroom," he said huskily.

"No, uh, wait. I have a surprise for you."

His eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Um, in the garage. Let's go before I get distracted again," Sara said, tugging him by the hand. He followed, intrigued.

Sara popped open her trunk. There was a large flat white box.

"A present," she told him, putting an arm around his waist.

"You didn't have to..." Grissom said. He wasn't used to getting presents, especially when it wasn't a special occasion.

"I wanted to. Open it."

Grissom removed the lid of the box and pushed the tissue paper aside. There was a white baseball jersey, with the orange and blue insignia of the Chicago Cubs. Around the C were the embroidered words _CSI Bear Cubs_. On the left breast it said _Coach_.

Grissom lifted it up reverently and turned it over. Across the back it said GRISSOM and underneath the number 52.

"You...you even remembered my number," he said, choking up. "And my team."

"Yes," she said tenderly. Grissom was passionate about baseball, but he had a special place in his heart for the Chicago Cubs, those perennial underdogs.

"It's...it's perfect, sweetheart. Why the Bear Cubs?"

"Because you're my bear. My big fierce bear," Sara told him, touched at his emotional response. "And you're soft and warm and cuddly."

"And I love honey," he smiled at her.

"Yes," she answered. "And your honey loves you."

Grissom grabbed her in his arms, kissed her passionately, and growled playfully into her mouth. Sara giggled.

"Ooh, wait, there's more," she said, drawing away reluctantly.

Gil gave her another arched eyebrow and poked around in the box. There was a matching pair of baseball uniform pants, with a blue and orange stripe down the outer leg, and similarly striped socks. Under that he found an envelope and opened it, Sara grinning at his enthusiasm. Gil pulled out a card and read it off.

"All-season pass to the Las Vegas Stars batting cages. Bearer has access to said cages 24 hours a day. Wow. There's–12 of them? You, uh, you never fail to surprise me," he said, getting emotional again.

"One for all of us. I'm glad," Sara told him, getting choked up herself. "I love surprising you." They kissed again.

"Yeah, we need to move forward with the softball games. We keep putting it off."

"Pleasure deferred is pleasure denied," Sara told him. "You need to have fun. We need to have fun."

"You're right. You're so right, Sara."

"Hey," she said huskily, "try it on."

Grissom gave her another look, eyes gleaming, and stripped off his shirt and pants and pulled on the snug uniform on. He started to button up the shirt but she batted his hands away.

"Wanna play ball?" she asked throatily.

"Mm hmm. I don't believe," Gil said, lifting her up and setting her inside, "we've christened your new car yet."

"Why, no, we haven't," she said, in mock surprise.

Sara leaned back and he moved over her, kissing and sucking her neck and unbuttoning her blouse. With every button he moved lower with his lips and tongue, making Sara moan. Gil removed her shirt and bra and licked and kissed her breasts, sucking her nipples in turn as she dug her fingers in his soft curly hair. He knelt and removed her shoes and socks, then popped her trouser button open and drew the zipper down. He kissed the soft skin of her belly and explored her bellybutton with his tongue. Sara groaned.

Gil pulled her waistband down, dragging her underwear with it, as she lifted her hips to help. He dragged them down her long legs and tossed them into the car, then paused.

"Oh, Sara, you're so beautiful," Gil said, letting his eyes caress her naked body.

"You're overdressed," she told him throatily.

Grissom stood up and stripped for her slowly as she grinned. He folded up every piece of clothing as it was removed and laid them inside the car.

He moved away her in his naked glory, smiling when she told him what a sexy body he had. Starting at her feet, he sucked and licked and kissed his way up her long legs, enjoying her moans of pleasure and anticipation. Her legs opened wider and she got wetter as Gil explored her sensitive inner thighs with his tongue and lips. He leisurely found the places on her body that made her cry out, making sure her pleasure was sated before his.

With a sudden movement Gil moved her knees to his shoulders and buried his mouth in her, tasting and sucking her eagerly, thrusting his tongue inside as she squirmed and groaned and encouraged him. He replaced his tongue with a finger and stroked her hard as he sucked her erect clitoris into his mouth. Sara was thrashing her head in pleasure, the heat building, the electricity of his touch shooting throughout her body.

"Oh! _God _Gil. So good. So _close_..."

Gil thrust another finger inside her snug passage, rubbed her clit hard with a practiced motion and Sara arched up and screamed out her orgasm. He kept licking and sucking gently as she rode it out, swallowing her release of sexual fluid, and when the spasms subsided he did it again. And again. Sara gasped and tugged his head up. He let his tongue trail up her body and nipped her breast gently, then guided himself inside as they kissed deeply.

"So good. So wet for me. You feel...incredible," Gil moaned to her, moving inside her.

Sara panted and moved her hips in rhythm with his. "Oh, my love. You fill me like no other. Love how you love me," she groaned, pulling him deeper with her hands.

Gil thrust slowly, feeling every inch of her along his cock until he was buried in her warmth, then drawing back quickly and thrusting in harder. Sara braced her feet and thrust up, wanting him closer than possible, needing him inside, deeper and harder.

She found his throat with her mouth and sucked the skin in, biting it gently, then moved along his jaw with her mouth and licked that sexy cleft in his chin. Gil tilted his face and captured her mouth in a deep open-mouthed kiss, gasping in air at the corners of her lips and stroking her tongue with his in rhythm with his thrusts.

They sped up and she arched and clenched around him. Gil kept thrusting until the pressure in his balls was overwhelming, then came deep inside in a hot spurting rush. He yelled out his pleasure and her name and then buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply and smelling the scent of their arousal and release and her clean hair and sweat.

Sara stroked the sweat-dampened muscles of his back and ass and thighs, still quivering in the aftershocks of his powerful orgasm.

"That was amazing. You are...a magnificent lover," she told him.

Grissom leaned up on his elbows and stroked the hair from her face. "I have a magnificent partner," he said gently. He kissed all over her face and growled into her neck and she giggled.

"C'mon honeybear. Put that sexy uniform on again and let's go inside."

Gil grinned and stood up. He pulled the uniform pants on and buttoned up the jersey.

"Hm. It's snug," he commented.

"Good," Sara said. "You look hot. Go look in the mirror."

Grissom went past her and she smacked him on the ass and they smirked. He walked to the bathroom between the living room and the kitchen and looked at himself in the mirror.

"See?" Sara said from behind him. "Nice ass, Muscles." He struck a pose, flexing his arms and she squeezed his biceps, giggling.

"Ooh, what you do to me," Sara teased. "And you _have_ lost weight."

"Thanks," Grissom said. "How did you get the right size?"

"I peeked at your clothes, and then got a size smaller," Sara told him. "Actually, two sizes smaller in the pants. I knew they would stretch. Hodges helped too."

"David Hodges?" he said with disbelief.

"The same. He has a catalog with the different uniforms we can order, and I picked out what I liked and got it custom-made. He's going to get everyone else fitted out too."

"Remind me to thank him. You got one too?" Gil teased.

"Of course. Mine should be here in a few days," Sara said.

"I can't wait. Maybe I can...get to home base again."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you're gonna score. The shortstop is hot for you."

He chuckled. "Well, that's good. I'm hot for her too."

"So, should we get in some batting practice in after we sleep?"

"Good idea."

The next night at assignments, Grissom apologized for the delay and announced fielding practice the following afternoon. He assigned the various positions they'd all be playing.

"Nick, first base, Sara, shortstop, I'm taking third, and Henry, Archie, and Wendy in the outfield. Greg, second base for you? You're a good fielder."

"Thanks, Gris," Greg said, grinning at the compliment. "Sounds good."

"Warrick? You up to be our star pitcher again?"

"Sure," he said easily. "Bring it on."

"Cath? Wanna catch for Warrick?" The others smirked, and Grissom winked at Sara.

"Sure," Catherine said, batting her eyes at her crush. "I can handle anything you got, hot stuff."

"Hoo," Nick joked, fanning his face. "It's getting warm in here." They all chuckled.

"Can you bring Lindsay?" Grissom asked her.

"Think so," Catherine said brightly. "She might even be up for playing."

"Great. Oh, and Sara got us all passes for the batting cages." There was a chorus of thanks as she passed them out, and she got a kick out of their happy grins and bright eyes and appreciative words.

"Okay," Gris said, "I guess we have to earn our keep. Since the county is picking up the tab. Oh, and see Hodges for your uniforms. We're going to be the CSI Bear Cubs."

"Cute," Catherine commented.

"No, we're going to be the _Champion_ CSI Bear Cubs," Nick said, to cheers. Grissom slapped him happily on the shoulder as he went by and they all went to work. Sara smiled at the boyish gleam in Grissom's eye. They were in a good mood all shift.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER NINE**: **PLAY BALL**

"Great practice today, team."

"You looked really great out there today, Grissom. You could have gone pro." Hodges gushed.

"Hodges, quit kissing ass," Warrick told him. Nick and Greg snorted and the others smirked, other than Wendy, who gave him a sympathetic look.

"Thanks, Grissom," Nick said, snagging another slice of garlic bread. "Any pointers?"

"Ah, you know I don't like to criticize in front of everyone," Grissom hedged.

"That's okay, we can take it, right, guys?" Catherine looked around the table and speared a forkful of salad.

"Sure," Warrick said easily. "Our egos aren't that fragile."

Greg looked nervous, but he covered it by concentrating on his linguine with clam sauce. He wished he had ordered something less messy to eat, but it was too late now. And he had been conscious the entire time of Grissom watching him bat and field. _You've got a big mouth, Stokes. Just because you were a jock doesn't mean we all were._

Sara just smiled. She had enjoyed the entire practice session–the exercise, the sun on her face, seeing her friends in colorful sport clothes instead of black vests, long pants, and rain jackets, the banter, the ping of the bat and the thwack of a good catch, the feeling of freedom as she ran around the open field--even the smell of the leather glove and sweat combined. Most of all, the pleasure of seeing her lover in his element, well, one of them anyway, enjoying his favorite game. He was in his element doing an experiment he'd thought up, or an insect timeline, or at a walkthrough of a crime scene, or in front of a class, and in bed...she thought and smirked sexily in his direction. Grissom caught her look from the other end of the table and his brows knit momentarily and he quirked his head. Sara just gave him a Who me? look of innocence and he cleared his throat.

"Greg," Grissom said, and the young man flinched. "I have to say I was most impressed with you. You have a nice natural swing and don't try to crush the ball like Stokes does." Greg glowed and Nick looked crestfallen. "You're tentative on fielding, but you'll do fine. You gotta go toward the ball, charge it, instead of waiting for it to come to you. Otherwise you looked great out there."

Greg was glowing. "Thanks Gris."

"Just quit flirting with Sara."

"I wasn't!" both said simultaneously. The others chuckled. Greg continued defensively, "Hey. I'm a guy. And she would have to wear those shorts." Sara smirked at Greg. _Ah yes, the little red short_s, Grissom thought. _Distracting, to say the least. Just wait till we get home!_

"Nick, don't try to hit a home run every time. If you swing the bat too hard and too fast you're more likely to miss. We need base runs too. Running, fielding, yeah. You'll be fine. Keep your eye on the ball, okay?"

Warrick punched him in the shoulder.

"Wendy, you don't have a lot of power in your throw, but you do have accuracy, and that can be the difference that gets outs. The outfield isn't very exciting, so we might rotate you infield. You're a fast runner. Get some more batting practice, okay?"

"Okay, coach."

"Catherine, I know you're not crazy about hitting..."

"It stings my hands," she complained.

"I know. Mine too. I think all our hands are soft from wearing latex gloves all the time."

They agreed and looked at the fresh red patches and abraded skin on their palms, comparing them with each other. "I never liked aluminum bats for that reason. I'm sure Hodges can find us some wooden bats. And batting gloves, right?"

"Of course, Gil," he said smugly, "You can count on me." They all rolled their eyes.

"Anyway." Grissom looked annoyed. He hated it when Hodges called him by his first name. Jim, Catherine, they were old friends. And at home with Sara...between the sheets...his mind wandered briefly. "Ahem. So, Cath, I think we should get you to bunt more. And hit grounders, that'll keep the other team in close. So when you do connect, and I know you can, you have a good chance of getting on base."

"Good strategy, coach," she said appreciatively.

"Archie, I'd like to see more speed. You have power, but need to work on accuracy. And you're a promising hitter."

"Thanks, Grissom."

"Sara, your wrists are a little weak, so I'd choke up on the bat more. And you tend to swing a beat too soon...need to get a faster breakaway to first base.."

When he paused, and hadn't added a compliment like the others, she looked hurt.

"You've, um, got a little sauce on your chin," he told her.

There was a round of friendly chuckles as she wiped it away.

"Fielding, running, all very good. And your throwing has improved," Grissom went on. "Have you ever tried pitching?"

"Not really."

"Maybe we can get some extra practice in then," Grissom told her with a twinkle in his eye.

"Sure," she said, giving him a big toothy grin. _Sounds fun!_

"Warrick, I don't need to tell you, you're doing great. Just pick up the pace. Work on reaction time, speed. Get some more catching practice in with Catherine." The two of them exchanged a flirty look. "We all need to work on accuracy and speed of throws around the bases, running laps...and I want everyone to hit the batting cages whenever you have some time. The game is a week from Saturday."

There was a pause while Grissom turned his attention to his food.

"Warrick, didn't you say you had a chance to play semi-pro ball?" Sara asked.

Warrick looked surprised. "I can't believe you remembered that, Sara. That was your first year here–one of your first cases?" She nodded. Warrick expansively stretched his arms back along the top of the booth, and Catherine shifted slightly to snuggle in. Nick, concentrating on his lasagna, didn't notice. "Yeah. I belonged to a youth league in high school. We played almost every afternoon in the summer. A scout came around one day. I thought about it, but said I was going to college instead."

"Any regrets?" Sara asked him.

"Nah. I'd be washed up by now. By my age." The men nodded, listening. "Knees, shoulders, something or other. And then where would I be? It would have been an adventure, traveling around the country by bus, dancing and drinking in juke joints, meeting girls, playing ball...a boy's dream, right, guys?"

"Sure," Nick, Archie, and Greg agreed, and Grissom looked thoughtful. Hodges pursed his lips with disdain.

"Besides," Warrick added. "I know my purpose in life–thanks to..." and he indicated Gil with his head. Grissom's eyes softened a little before he became interested in his plate, uncomfortable with praise.

"So it really is every boy's dream, to be a baseball player?" Catherine asked.

"Sure, fireman, musician, pro athlete, I'd say so," Greg said.

"In Texas, it was football. Football is huge in Texas. Everyone wanted to be on the team," Nick added.

"Were you?" Sara pressed.

Nick looked embarrassed. "For two years. By ninth grade, those linemen were huge! Kept getting flattened. And by freshman year, the scouts were already recruiting and the coaches were grooming those who could make it in college–even the NFL. So I got cut. But I played a lot of other sports."

"What about you, Grissom? Where did you get your passion for baseball?" Sara asked, genuinely curious.

"My father took me to my first game when I was five years old," he said simply. Again the men's eyes softened. Most had similar memories. "And I started following the teams, the players..."

"Which ones?"

"Ron Santo. Third baseman. Chicago Cubs," he answered without hesitation. "A slugger and star fielder. Not a flashy player, not pretty, but he loved the game, loved the Cubs, Chicago. Exuberant. Made you love the team back. In 1969–they were rock stars. There was Santo, Bechart, Ernie Banks, Hundley, Kissinger, Billy Williams...I'll never forget that summer. Guys would say, 'Are you going to get that?' And they'd say, 'I've got it covered like Santo's got third base covered.' His signature move was to jump up and click his heels. I'll never forget Ron Santo running down the sidelines kicking his heels. That was when people began running out of dugouts at the end of a game, hugging guys at home plate and on the mound, carrying guys off. People singing and people dancing. Not like now. It's...it's baseball. He was my hero."

Grissom looked around. Everyone was gaping at him. "What?" he said, puzzled.

"I don't think I've ever heard you say so much at one time," Catherine told him. "And I know I've never heard you call anyone your hero."

"Everyone has heroes. Or they should. Anyway. Shouldn't all of you be getting ready for work?" There was a scrambling for wallets and the check was passed around with friendly arguments about who got what.

As the chorus of goodbyes started, Grissom gave one last instruction. "Hey. Try another position as least once before the game. Substitutions can throw off the other team, and we need to be ready."

"To kick Ecklie's ass!" Warrick said, and Nick thumped him on the back. They all filed out. Sara detoured to the ladies' room to let them get a head start. When she came out, she stopped for a moment and looked from a short distance away. There was Grissom, lost in thought, idly playing with his silverware. From time to time a smile flickered across his face. His eyes traveled around the table, then back. Remembering. Her heart melted.

Sara went up behind him and hugged him around the neck.

"Hey."

Gil looked up and grasped her arm with his hand.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"Can't remember," he said playfully. "Tell me again."

Sara gave him a kiss that sent his pulse racing.

"Wow. That much, huh?"

"This much," she said, and kissed him, open-mouthed and deep, pouring her love into his lips. This time when they broke apart he was breathing heavily through his nose, face flushed, pupils dilated, fingertips gliding across her face.

"Sara, I..."

A waitress swooped in and grabbed the check, cackling at them. "Do I need to get a fire extinguisher to cool you two off?" She trotted away.

"I think I need to get some bedtime in before shift," Sara told him, grinning.

"May I join you?" he asked, smirking.

"Hmm. Don't see why not. Come along, my hero."

"Batter up," he said, grinning.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER TEN**

It was in the seventh inning when it happened. The CSI Bear Cubs were leading the Daylighters 9-4. Midway through swing shift, in late afternoon, day shift went up to bat. The grave shift team was fielding and hitting well, relaxed and confident and having fun. All but Wendy and Catherine had gotten on base and Grissom had hit a solo home run. He grinned like a kid as he trotted around the bases. Rounding third, he jumped up heavily and clicked his heels and the Bear Cubs yelled themselves hoarse. Ecklie looked like he was eating lemons. His team was playing with intensity and without joy.

Sara speared a line drive and smoothly tossed the ball to Greg...double play! Greg and Sara exchanged high fives and the rest of the team cheered them heartily.

That was the high point of the inning. Two batters later and the Daylighters had a runner on first and second with two outs. Warrick was sweating and muttering to himself for walking the last batter. Grissom called time and went from third base to the pitcher's mound and got him calmed down. Warrick wound up and fired a sizzling fastball at the next batter, a CSI 2 nicknamed "Hoss."

Hoss connected and the ball flew fast toward left field. Grissom ran back, his head twisted to follow the ball's flight. Nick sprinted forward to catch it. They lost track of each other with the setting sun in their eyes and collided in a tangle of limbs that would have been comical but that Nick's head connected with Grissom's jaw in an uppercut. The baseball hit the side of his head. Grissom, knocked out, landed hard. Nick fell on top of him. The crowd made a loud deep groan and Catherine yelled, "Oh, God, No!" The ball dribbled away, forgotten.

Sara, horrified, froze. She bit her lip to keep from screaming Gil's name. The lead runner pounded home with no one covering third. Hoss made it to second base while Greg ran to left field, gathered the ball, and threw it to Warrick, who relayed it to the catcher, Catherine. Distracted, it bounced out of her mitt as the next run scored. She managed, barely, to tag out Hoss and end the inning.

Sara, Warrick, Catherine, Greg, Mandy, and Wendy sprinted over and encircled their fallen teammates. Nick rolled to one side and Greg and Mandy helped him to his feet.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked Nick.

"Yeah. Ow." Nick touched the growing knot on his head gingerly.

"Gil? Hey, you okay? Gil?" Catherine asked, cradling his head, while Sara balled her fists to stop from shoving her aside and doing the same. Instead she fell to her knees and put her hand on Grissom's leg. Grissom mumbled and waved his hands around. He opened his eyes to six anxious faces.

"What's the score?"

"You would ask that," Catherine said with exasperation. "It's 9-6."

"What the hell? What happened?" There was a babble of voices explaining. Grissom pushed Catherine's arm away and started to sit up. "So I get banged up and two runs score?" He was glowering.

"Lie still," Catherine protested. "You collided with Nick. You were knocked unconscious, Gil."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said grumpily. "Jaw hurts, s'all. Headache. Damn, Nick, you have a hard head." There were a few uneasy chuckles. "We have a game to finish. Can I trust you guys to do that?" Grissom glared at them in turn. "Anyone going to help me up?"

Hands grasped his and pulled him up. Encouraging cheers rang out from the bleachers, and even Ecklie looked concerned. Nick and Warrick put his arms around their shoulders, but he shoved them away. Grissom staggered a little on the way to their dugout, where he sank to the bench and put his face in his hands.

The joy went out of the Bear Cubs. Distracted with concern, three batters were struck out in order and again they took the field. Grissom started to walk out to third base.

"Oh, no you don't. You're green. Locker room, now," Catherine said bossily. She glanced at Sara's and read the intense fear and concern there. "Sara, go with him?" She nodded dumbly and took Grissom's elbow.

"Henry, shortstop. Bobby, third base," Grissom said thickly, and mouthed "Thank you" to Catherine, retreating without any more protest.

"How do you feel? What can I do?" Sara asked anxiously, once she had led him inside.

"Shower," he muttered, striping off his uniform on the way to the shower stalls.

Sara started to follow.

"No. I can manage by myself, thank you," he said shortly. Sara stopped abruptly with a flicker of hurt across her face, then busied herself gathering his clothes, and stuffing them in his gym bag. She listened to the shower water echo on the tiled walls. A muffled groan, and Sara was right outside. Her concern doubled when she heard Gil retching. It went on until he made a whimper like a sick dog.

"Oh, Gil. That's not good," she muttered to herself, her heart aching.

The water kept falling for a long time. No sound from the man inside.

"Gil?" No answer. "Gil...I'm coming in." Sara slid the curtain aside. Grissom was leaning an arm against the wall, his eyes closed. The water had run cold and he was shivering. Sara turned off the shower, grabbed a towel and rubbed him down.

"How do you feel, hon?"

"Fine." His voice was low.

"Bullshit. I heard you throwing up. And you were knocked out. I think you have a concussion."

"What happened?"

"Don't you remember?" Sara squeaked out. _This just gets worse!_

"Uh. I...sure I do. Just...give me a minute."

Sara pursed her lips and said nothing more, just concentrated on getting him dried off and dressed and to the SUV. She buckled him in and ran out to the field and found Catherine.

"I think Gris has a concussion," she said breathlessly. "I'm taking him to the ER." Sara ran off before Catherine could respond.

Sara started the car, her hands trembling.

Gil opened his eyes briefly. "Where we goin,'"

"ER."

"No we're not."

"Yes we are. I'm driving. We go where I want."

"I'm fine. Migraine meds. Be OK. Just...take...mm...home."

"Hush." Sara sped through traffic faster than usual. At a red light, six blocks away, she remembered to radio ahead, so there was an orderly and a wheelchair waiting for them when she screeched to a halt. Inside, there was a wait. Sara struggled through the medical forms, glancing at him from time to time.

"Next of kin. Gris? Who's your next of kin? Abby? Who's your emergency contact?"

"You are."

Sara finally smiled briefly. "And you're mine, okay?"

"Good to know." He, too, tried to smile at her, but suddenly grimaced in pain and touched a finger to his jaw.

"Yeah, it's swelling. Bruised. Did you hit your head, too?"

Grissom touched the side of his head. Sara felt carefully until she found a tender spot.

"Ow!"

"Sorry. That explains the concussion. I think the baseball hit you too."

"See, I almos...caught it."

Sara took his hand in both of hers and squeezed it. That was how Catherine found them, fifteen minutes later. Sitting close together, holding hands. She was gazing in his face, he in hers, oblivious. Sara dragged a fingertip down the uninjured side of his face. Catherine stopped and watched for a moment, grinning with satisfaction.

"Well, well. Looks like someone finally woke up and saw what was right in front of him. Unless the hit to his head did it?"

Just then a nurse approached and the couple looked up. She took the handles of his wheelchair and Sara stood, still gripping his hand. As they moved forward, Sara glanced over and recognized Catherine. She flushed and dropped Gil's hand.

Catherine smiled and went up to her. "It's okay. So, you two are...together?"

Sara gulped and nodded.

"About damn time. How long?"

"Don't say anything, okay?" Catherine nodded and Sara hurried away.

**TBC**

A/N: Wow, this has taken a long time to update. Sorry. Distractions, writer's block, you name it. Thanks to all who stuck with me and encouraged me to continue! You are all appreciated.

ILoveJorja


	7. Chapter 7

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"Tol' you it wass a goddam was'e of time," Grissom said irritably. "Why din' we jus' go home, like I ast?"

Sara said nothing. She just concentrated on driving.

"Ge some res'. Dark, quie' room. Take a few days off," he grumbled. "Dat's all you can do for a concussion. You know this, Shara."

"You were knocked unconscious. And you puked in the shower, Gil. You never get sick like that. And you're still not enunciating your words," she added.

"Jaw hur's."

"Are you going to follow through with the CAT scan?"

Grissom shook his head and glowered through the windshield.

"X-ray? He said you might have a hairline fracture of the jaw."

"Can' do anythin' for tha' eithe'. Wire it shut, mebbe."

"That might be an improvement." They smirked testily at each other.

"We're going to get your painkillers and then straight home."

"Yes, mother."

"Grissom!" They glared at each other. "I know you're in pain..."

"You haff no idea."

"No, I don't. But don't take it out on me."

The rest of the ride was in silence.

Once home, Sara popped opened the pill bottle, got him a drink of juice, watched Gris swallow them and then set them on the bedside table. Grissom dragged himself to bed, moaning and shedding his clothes on the way. Sara shut the blinds and tucked him in, her mouth set in a line. He stretched out under the cool sheets and tried to find a position for his head to rest. She helped a little with the pillow until he grumbled something. Once his breathing evened out, she wearily took her own shower and dressed for work.

Grissom woke up when she sat on the bed to put her socks and shoes on.

"Where you goin'?"

"To work," she said shortly.

"Oh. Of course," he said blearily. "Sara?"

"Hmm?"

He reached out his hand to hers. "Shorry."

"Is that you or have the painkillers kicked in?"

Grissom considered. "Both." He tried to pull her closer. Sara stood up, and firmly but not unkindly, released his hand. She gave him a peck on the forehead and then smoothed his brow.

"Go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Um hmm." He was already drifting off.

Eleven hours later, Sara slipped her key in the lock and immediately went to check on Grissom. At the bedroom door she paused with the light behind her. He was in the middle of the bed, lips open a crack, snoring softly. Sara looked closer. There was some dribble on the pillow, and it had blood in it. She swore under her breath and put her hand on his forehead. Feverish.

She thought for a minute.

"Jaw looks really swollen," she muttered. "Infected?"

Sara pulled out her Maglite and lifted his lip to look in his mouth. Grissom stirred but didn't open his eyes. The gums were red and swollen. She sat on the bed to get a better angle. Grissom shouted with pain and his eyes flew open. His hair was plastered to his head and his T-shirt was damp.

"Don't! Stop!" he yelled.

"Stop what? Gil, what is it?"

"Don't...Please...don't shake the bed! Light..." He gestured to the doorway.

"I wasn't...I'll turn the light off, sorry." She did so. "Have you taken..."

Grissom fought to get loose of the tangled covers. "Hot."

Sara untangled the sheets and helped him sit up.

"Gil. Listen. You have a fever and your mouth is bleeding. I'm going to get you some things to make you feel better, okay? First, take another dose."

He swallowed them and nodded dumbly. Tears of pain slid down his cheeks.

Sara fetched a cool wet washcloth and handed Grissom a bag of frozen peas.

"Hold this to your jaw." He did so, gingerly. Sara wiped the tears from his face and then his eyes. "Oh, honey, you're a mess," she said softly. She tucked the washcloth around the back of his neck.

"I need you to open your mouth for me, okay?"

Grissom just looked at her. She read the question in his eyes.

"I need to know where the blood is coming from." She picked up her Maglite again and shone it into Gil's mouth, probing delicately.

"Ah. Looks like you cracked a tooth." Grissom raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment.

Sara snapped off the light. "Okay. I'm going to call your dentist."

Greg insisted on waiting with her at the dentist's office, once word went around of what was happening. She was grateful for his company and vented about what a miserable patient Grissom was. Greg listened but didn't ask the one question he wanted to. Sara flipped through yet another magazine and sighed.

A bellow like a bull echoed from the end of the hallway. The noise grew closer.

"SARA!! _SARA!!!_"

"I'm here!" Her voice was drowned out.

"_SARA!!_ Don't GO! Don't _LEAVE ME_!!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" Greg was snickering.

"He sounds like Stanley in Streetcar Named Desire," Greg teased, elbowing her in the ribs. "STELLA!" Greg yelled back.

"SARA!"

"STELLA!" Greg did his best Brando impression. Sara couldn't help laughing at them both.

Finally, the very loud, very drugged up, very emotional Grissom was rolled into view.

He was waving his arms and trying to get out of the wheelchair. A harassed looking nurse was trying to keep him seated.

"SARA!! MY DARLING!" Grissom stumbled to his feet and fell into her arms.

"Hush! GRISSOM!"

"SARA!" he bellowed again, leaning on her limply. "CAN YOU FORGIVE ME, MY LOVE? I LOVE YOU SARA!!"

"I love you too," she said into his ear. "Now pipe down!"

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..." he warbled.

"Oh, dear God."

Greg had turned red from laughing so hard, and he had to lean a hand on the wall. Sara shot him a dirty look over Grissom's shoulder.

"KISS ME MY SARA!" Grissom pulled her head into a sloppy kiss. One side of his mouth drooped from the Novocaine and when she pulled back she had to wipe the spittle from her face.

"I'm taking you home. Now," Sara said, blushing.

"OH, TAKING ME TO BED??"

Sara pushed him out the door.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**TRUSTING THE TEAM**

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Grissom's anesthetic wore off within hours and the pain roared back. Again he was a miserable patient. The dentist gave him a mouth guard to give his jaw and tooth a chance to heal, with instructions to eat only liquids or soft food for 2 weeks. He was off work for three nights and had to stay in the guest bedroom as any movement of the mattress woke him up in pain. The narcotics helped. Sara quickly learned to recognize when they were wearing off and got him a glass of water and another dose before he even asked.

Sara cared for him devotedly and tried not to take his grumpy mood personally. It was an adjustment to sleep in bed alone, but that: "Maybe they were smothering each other and he couldn't breathe," comment at a crime scene some weeks earlier still stung. Grissom had tried, lamely, to say that he wasn't talking about the two of them, but...she couldn't help but wonder. They both knew, going in, that it would be a major adjustment to be together night and day, and for a near-hermit to share his space. _Perhaps it is a good thing to retreat a little_, Sara mused. _Am I clingy? Needy? Do I make him feel smothered?_ _Do I dare ask?_ Since he couldn't talk much or long, she decided to postpone that discussion. It wouldn't be fair.

"Open up."

Grissom grumbled.

"Jeez you really are a bear. A bear with a toothache."

He glowered at her.

"C'mon. I need to see how that tooth is doing. And if the infection is going away."

Grissom opened his mouth and Sara peered inside.

"You know, Gil, you have a lovely set of teeth," she said conversationally.

"'Anks."

"Swelling is going down." She pulled his cheek aside. "Don't bite me, okay?"

Grissom snorted and his eyes showed a glimmer of amusement. Sara smiled back at him.

"Looks better. What would you like to eat? Oatmeal, macaroni and cheese, soup, milkshake?"

"Wha' kind o' soup?"

"Pea soup."

"Ugh. Milkshake. Please. No, I'll make it–-want one?"

Sara looked pleased. "Sure. Chocolate."

Grissom made them both rich thick milkshakes. They sipped them thoughtfully.

"I'm goin' to work tonight." Grissom said.

Sara started to object, then looked at him curiously.

"Gettin' bored. I can only sleep so much, you know?" She nodded. "I'll have to wear that mouth guard. Stay in the lab for now."

"You sure you're up to it?"

"Yeah." He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Thanks, hon."

Sara pursed her lips and squeezed back. "If the pain gets bad--tell me?"

"I will."

Grissom got a warm welcome from his team. In response he had to point to his mouth and show the mouth guard. He was under strict orders to talk as little as possible.

Catherine grinned at him. "Can't talk? This should be interesting." Grissom glowered at her. "Then again you don't talk much anyway." She and Greg took great amusement in settling in Grissom's office and chattering away until he glared at them and covered his ears. When Greg walked in for the third time in his first shift he grabbed his arm and threw him out.

Nick kept apologizing guiltily and giving him sad puppy dog looks until Grissom wrote out on a notepad: STOP SAYING SORRY. ACCIDENTS HAPPEN. Nick nodded and hurried off to bury himself in work.

Sara strolled by and peeked in to see him buried in paperwork. An idea occurred to her.

She walked in and waited until Grissom looked up. She waved and then swept her middle fingers up and away from her chest. ASL for _Hi, how are you?_

Grissom's face lit up. He gave her a thumbs up. _Good._

"How's the pain?" she said quietly.

Grissom flattened his hand and wagged it side to side. _So so._

"Need anything?"

Grissom pointed to her then clutched his heart dramatically. _You, love._

Sara giggled. "This is kind of fun," she commented. Grissom nodded, his eyes smiling.

Warrick started to walk in, halted, and watched this interaction with interest.

Grissom outlined the shape of a house with his fingers, then put his palms together at the side of his face and tilted his head, asking with his eyes, _Home_, _sleep?_

Warrick's eyebrows went up. Even he could interpret that. _They're living/sleeping together? About damn time, bugman._

"Not yet. Waiting for some results. You?"

Grissom waved at the piles of papers with resignation.

"Got it," Sara said. "Don't try to do it all in one night."

He shrugged.

"You need your rest. Or you'll end up in bed again."

Gil made two fists, thumbs up, and brought them together in front of him, then pointed to Sara. _With you?_

Sara gave her throaty chuckle. "Huh. If you behave." His lip twitched in amusement.

"Okay. I'll see you later?"

Grissom nodded enthusiastically. His hands swept through three letters: I L Y. _I love you._

Sara winked. "Me too." Warrick made a rapid retreat before Sara came out, musing to himself.

A few days went by and Grissom felt better enough to go out in the field again. He paired himself with Sara as she could read his mind the best. He only had to point or gesture and she would know. They processed a scene with only a few words from Sara to clarify, and when they were done Gil smiled at her with pride and admiration. She caught his look and grinned at him.

The weeks passed and at last Grissom could talk and eat solid food. He invited everyone out to breakfast in celebration. They had just wrapped a case together and agreed happily. After they had ordered, he cleared his throat.

"I just want to...tell you all...thanks. For putting up with me, and my moods. And stepping up...and helping...when I needed it." He looked around the table at each face, then let his eyes linger on Sara.

"That's alright."

"Don't mention it."

"Anytime, Gris."

"You're welcome."

He paused and they looked at him. "I'm a teacher without students. You've all blossomed into talented professionals. I'm so proud of all of you." Touched, they reacted in their individual ways. No one said anything for a bit.

Sara broke the silence. "Hey. I've been thinking."

"Fancy that," Greg teased, and the men chuckled.

"Hush," she said, poking him with a bony elbow. "I've been thinking about us. The team. We have more in common than the job. Our upbringings." Greg, Catherine, Warrick, Grissom, and Nick looked at her, interested and listening.

She pointed to Greg first. "You're an only child, right?" He nodded. "And your parents are...?"

"Divorced."

"Right. So you were raised by a single mother...an overprotective mom, right?"

"Right."

"Cath? You have one sister, right? And you were raised by a single mom too?"

"I was."

"And now you're a single mom."

Catherine nodded to Sara, starting to understand.

"Warrick? You were raised by your..."

"Grandmother."

"No father, no mother? And you're an only child..."

"Yes."

"Grissom. You're an only child too."

"That's right, Sara."

"And your father..."

"Died. So my mother raised me alone."

"Nick. I guess you could say you're the exception that proves the rule. You have an intact family, married parents, and sisters..."

"Four sisters," Nick supplied. "All older than me."

"Right. Now, I don't know if you know about my background..." The table was silent. Sara and Grissom exchanged a look. His of concern, hers of reassurance. "I. Uh. You're my family, or the closest I've had to one, and I think you should know. My father...is dead. My mother..." she trailed off. "I was raised in foster homes. Since I was 12. I have a brother, but I lost touch with him."

"What happened?" Greg blurted out.

Sara looked at him steadily, then sighed. _Might as well._ "We...we weren't exactly the Brady Bunch." She chuckled sadly. "My father was an alcoholic and violent and abusive. To all of us, but especially to my mother. So...one night...she killed him." There was a collective gasp.

Catherine spoke first. She reached across the table and squeezed Sara's hand. "So that's why...you react to domestic abuse...I'm sorry, Sara."

"That's all right."

"I...Forgive me?"

"Of course," Sara smiled at her.

"Thanks for telling us." The others nodded and agreed.

"I...we...trust each other. So!" Sara tried to break the heaviness that had settled around the table. "It's interesting, don't you think? Most of us had single moms, some of us were only children. Our fathers...left, died, or weren't around...or weren't fathers to us. We missed out on that, all but Nick."

"So we've created our own family, with each other," Greg said.

"Yes," Sara said.

"That's a good point," Catherine told her. "We all have holes–no fathers, no close siblings to help us through the bad times...and that's why we're so much like brothers and sisters. You three were only children, and so is Lindsay."

"And you, Nicky, even though you still have a dad, I think you feel you never lived up to his standards, or wishes?" Sara asked kindly. Nick nodded. "So you want to get that...approval from Grissom."

"You're right," Nick said slowly. "You, Grissom, are the father none of us had."

Grissom looked thoughtfully down at the table. "Five kids." He sighed dramatically. "Without the fun of conceiving them. At least I never had to change your diapers."

They all laughed.

**TBC**


End file.
